


Eye Contact

by NarumiKaiko



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Historical Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But they still get down, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Exhibitionism, Eye Fucking Across the Room, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex with Humans, They Can’t Be Together and Have Made Peace With It, They are so far from husbands in this but ykwim, Voyeurism, but not really, choosing partners who look like your best friend because you're hopeless, with consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarumiKaiko/pseuds/NarumiKaiko
Summary: Feeling those golden eyes directed at him while bringing another man such pleasure was shockingly intimate, and alarmingly exciting. There was discrete, and then there was… well, whatever they found themselves doing now.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 147





	Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Major thank yous to hoko_onchi and anti_kate for beta reading and general first-time-writer hand holding!

The evening was quieting down now. The inevitable shift from party to a mere colocalization of more intimate gatherings had begun some time between their host’s espousing the merits of the chef and the tapping of the fifth cask of wine. Such soirees were more often than not the true engines of political activity these days, and goodness knows he needed to keep an ear to the ground given his current assignment. Still, Aziraphale never minded when they turned to more bacchanalian endeavors. 

Aziraphale turned and whispered a suggestion into the ear of his companion for the evening, a minor noble of no import or consequence, other than the way his crimson locks had caught Aziraphale’s attention from across the room. Heated looks and meaningless banter had since devolved into a rather more literal interpretation of the phrase ‘tongue in cheek’. The man grasped Aziraphale’s hand, leading him further from the center of the room and into a secluded alcove considerately appointed with numerous divans and furs, more than enough room for the few couples— and at least one treble— already making use of the space. 

As Aziraphale sank onto the last remaining couch— more a settee, he considered— his partner hummed with approval, forgoing the smaller seat to instead sink to the floor. He spread Aziraphale’s legs with a steady hand, reaching up for another kiss as he began working at the fastenings of his clothing. Aziraphale leaned back to grant better access, eyes briefly trawling the room before snagging on an unmistakable head of russet hair most fervently occupied not twenty feet away.

Crowley’s presence wasn’t a complete surprise, though perhaps unexpected this late in the evening. Aziraphale had even spoken with him earlier; they had shared witticisms over the candied apricots and roasted partridge. Aziraphale wondered whether the sweet tang of the apricots lingered still on Crowley’s tongue, or whether that flavor had been entirely eclipsed by that of the man sprawled beneath him.

Much to their mutual enjoyment their respective assignments had aligned these last months, and more often than not they found themselves moving in the same circles, attending the same gatherings. While he knew, of course he knew, that they both took human lovers to suit their needs— Aziraphale had always made it a point to lose track of him as these evenings progressed; were Crowley ensconced in some corner Aziraphale preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of the details. 

Clearly tonight was to be an exception.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the sight across the room, Aziraphale tried to anchor himself in the moment, the person he was with now. Fingers trailed delicately along the length of his cock before his companion set about demonstrating his oral dexterity.

He released Aziraphale’s thigh and firmly grasped the base of his cock, stroking in time with the movement of his head, low vocalizations pressed into his tip, sending vibrations up his spine. 

He sank his fingers into the man’s fiery red hair and a moan rose unbidden from his throat. Across the room Crowley sharply sat up, golden eyes finding and locking with Aziraphale’s own. The blond man lying face down on the sofa beneath him whined in complaint, to which Crowley— not breaking eye contact— wiped his chin, moistened his fingers with his tongue, and with that hand resumed his ministrations.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, awkwardly both disturbed and aroused at the vision before him. Privacy was never an expectation during such gatherings, and yet Aziraphale felt horribly voyeuristic: gaze magnetically drawn to the muscles of Crowley’s forearm, every movement drawing those long fingers out, and in again. Feeling those golden eyes directed at him while bringing another man such pleasure was shockingly intimate, and alarmingly exciting. There was discrete, and then there was… well, whatever they found themselves doing now. Some strange game of both giving and receiving, together and yet separate.

The irony of their chosen partners this evening did not go unnoted. Though red hair was rare in this part of the continent, Aziraphale nevertheless found himself frequently taking partners with tresses in every shade of crimson. Tonight’s specimen was somewhere between freshly fallen blood and a dying ember, gently curling locks tumbling just beyond his shoulders. He had been impossible to resist. The man gave a particularly enthusiastic whirl of his tongue, and Aziraphale’s hips surged in response. Crowley’s eyes dropped briefly to where Aziraphale had tightened his grip on the red curls, before looking back up with a cocked brow. Aziraphale couldn’t restrain the moue of acknowledgement that flashed across his face, tilting his own chin at the fluffy pale mop crowning Crowley’s companion. At this Crowley barked out a laugh, grinning savagely as if accepting a challenge. As Aziraphale watched, Crowley reached with his free arm for the jar nearby, dousing his cock with oil before withdrawing his fingers and lining himself up. Pausing to ensure he had Aziraphale’s full attention, he slowly inched forwards, sinking himself into the facsimile before him, drawing twinned moans from both his partner and Aziraphale. 

The man on his knees in front of Aziraphale took this as encouragement, now stroking his own cock in time with the movements of his head, his hums of pleasure reverberating down Aziraphale’s cock and taking firm hold in his bollocks.

Crowley’s companion had noticed their audience, grinning appreciatively up at Aziraphale before arching back into Crowley’s thrusts, letting out moans of increasing intensity. The man reached up and drew Crowley down against himself, entwining their fingers, squeezing with the next thrust. Crowley was an attentive lover— he leaned forward to press a trail of kisses across the man’s shoulders, drawing the fingers of his hand slowly up along his spine.

It felt wrong to see Crowley caressing the man so tenderly while railing him so thoroughly. Aziraphale didn’t feel jealous, so much as guilty— the man deserved Crowley’s undivided attention in such an intimate moment, and yet he could tell the demon’s mind was no longer with him. His stare was a vortex, an unbreaking, unflinching line of communication between them, and Aziraphale knew that every thrust, every tender caress, Crowley was giving to _him._ Despite the space between them, the billions of molecules of air from Crowley’s exhale to the filling of his own lungs, despite the very real people they were each actively fucking, Crowley was in that moment making love to _him. ___

__There was the briefest pause, an endless moment at the edge of a precipice, before Crowley drove mercilessly again into the man below him, eyes unblinkingly locked with Aziraphale’s, and it was all too easy to allow himself to feel those movements mirrored in the attentions of his own partner: every hard thrust transmuted into the flex of tongue, the flick of wrist, the drag of lips warm and wanting. Every moan that fell from his lips was connected directly to the roll of Crowley’s pelvis, the tight grasp of his hands on hips, the barely audible grunt that tore straight to the base of his own spine and _yanked._ _ _

__After an eternity locked in this back and forth, this ceaseless pulling pooling of their twinned desires, Aziraphale at last gave in to his own climax. It was delicious, the raging need burning throughout his corporation, fiercely devouring the oxygen of his every breath, searing rampant fractals across his soul and singing in resonance with every molecule of his being. He didn’t realize his eyes had drifted closed until they snapped open, drawn by the altered breath from across the room. Crowley had stilled, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes unfocused and pupils dilated beyond the edge of human possibility. If one had the eyes to see it (and oh, but Aziraphale did), tongues of fire had sprung to life in a nearby plane, coruscating across the edges of Crowley’s shattered halo and casting their golden glow in a circle of radiance._ _

__Aziraphale could feel his heartbeat slowing, gradually returning to normal, and his mind cleared even as he once again locked eyes with Crowley. This wouldn’t change anything. They had both known the other took human partners, both had long ago made peace with the impossibility of being together. After all, it was one thing to occasionally indulge in the pleasures of the flesh with a human, but with a demon? Aziraphale Falling was a risk neither of them were willing to take. And so they had proceeded delicately throughout human history, even after formalizing the terms of their Arrangement— always a helping hand, a blessing extended here, temptation there. A jug of wine whilst recounting the deeds of the day, as it were. And always a very careful separation— a table to lean across, an armrest raised between them, precisely chosen words never giving voice to what desires lay beneath._ _

__No, this could not change anything. And yet. Forevermore, Crowley would know that Aziraphale did indeed make the same noise for both cakes and orgasms. Would know the exact shade of the blush that rose in his cheeks, the exact angle of his neck when his head fell back in pleasure. And Aziraphale would know that for the briefest of moments when Crowley came, his halo shone out whole, and unbroken._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first fic, y'all!!! Drop me some feedback in the comments, let's see if I can make this more than a single instance of writing!


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